The members of the former Resistance awaited Calvin's treatment, perhaps wondering and critical if such an action was warranted. They were on the clock after all, for who knew what was to occur in the next second, the next minute? Telvern crossed his arms as he watched on with intrigue in his eyes, even despite his rather stern, acute expression.
It made Raphael also think of his own injury, one that just so happened to be on the same hand as Libitina's. He hadn't exactly been checking on it, lacking much care for himself these past weeks. He glanced down upon it, finding it still bandaged up. But from the looks of it, it had completely healed, not even a scar was found.
"This isn't an efficient use of time," the genius Telvern's voice suddenly burst forth, demanding a hurry-up. "In case you've forgotten, we're amidst a hostile environment."
Calvin let out a sigh, frustrated with the harshness but reality obtained in Telvern's words. "I'll have to tend to it properly once we're done," he said, finishing up the wrapping of her hand. "For now, don't use that hand, all right? You'll be doin' yourself no favors if you do."
Upon completion of his advice, Calvin reached for his coat. He pulled his arms through its sleeves, placing himself in its shape once more. The social assassin then turned to Telvern, adjusting his coat to better contour to his shape. "So we jus' tossin' dis wine 'n' seein' what 'appens?" asked Calvin to the genius.
"More-or-less, yes..." Telvern answered, feeling a slight knot in his stomach. It was pressuring, given that this was all based on his utterly irrational theory. Doing as was suggested, Calvin cupped his hands together, dunking them like a ladle in the red liquid inside the barrel.
The social assassin's pale blue eyes then gazed upon the wondrous body of the Lady of Wine, his hands handling wine emerged from the makeshift mouth of the barrel. "Whelp, 'ere goes nothin'!" said Calvin, casting the wine out of his hands.
The group could only pray for a miracle, crossing their fingers for success. Everyone held their breath in this moment, for who knew what exactly was to happen the moment of the wine's connection? This was a plan beyond foolish, beyond madness, but one had to be a little foolish and mad in order to be successful.
Calvin's hands thrust forward, the wine dumped out of his palms. The spread of the wine wide, flying without wings all on its own. But the miraculous bestowment of flight of this red liquid ceased in an instance, smacking straight into the statue's legs.
The moment that the wine crawled down the statue, the group could hear the emission of an acidy hiss of sorts. An inquisitive sense developed in Telvern, his feet drawn to its sound. A splash pattern of a different color found on the statue, appearing in the exact location where Calvin threw the liquid.
A different color was revealed like the muscle underneath the skin, a ravishing, alluring ruby red color vaporized, tarnished, dissolving into a silvery-white stone beneath. There was a collective sense of surprise among the group, finding out that there was something to that superstition. "Huh..." uttered Calvin, speechless. "Well... dat's good dat we didn't waste our time!"
Telvern approached the spot, cautiously examining its exact content. He thoroughly scanned the substance with his eyes for what felt like hours, investigating the splatter comprehensively. He then put his hand to it, his fingers marvelously frenzied by the smooth, almost metallic-like surface like a sheet of steel.
A number of different theories swirling in his brain like a carousel, each horse another hypothesis in his head. No time for conjecture, he had to be absolutely sure of what he'd tell his allies. There was one last test to conduct before his conclusion, drawing his face in closer. And the moment his face came inches from the surface, Telvern knew exactly what they had before them.
A harsh, but oddly luscious scent offending his nostrils like a kind insult, the monstrous byproduct of rotten cottage cheese and berries that had been freshly harvested. Such a foul but sweet smell incited a riot of thought in Telvern's mind, pushing him back. "Interesting..." muttered the genius to himself, clenching his chin.
Everyone was able to detect that he had stumbled upon the truth. "Do you know what it is?" the dark-robed young man Daevarro questioned the genius.
The genius recalled inked words branded upon a blank space, a massive brick of paper held in a spine. "I've heard of it only from paper, but I cannot duly deny what the evidence is telling me," Telvern thought outside of his mind, then turning to his allies. "Based on the substance's color, smooth surface, and its rather distinctive, acerbic smell, I would conclude that this statue isn't enchanted with magic, but rather made of an ore referred to as rubium."
The air went hollow, not a sound could trespass into this dome of silence. The faces of the others knew not exactly what to make of Telvern's statement, raising much question and bemusement in them. "Rubium?" asked Raphael.
"Rubium is found only to the west, and it has garnered considerable renown for its volatile, unstable nature." Telvern explained briefly. "It's rather infamous for this characteristic, reacting violently most especially towards water. This was a behavior that humans formerly took advantage of, applying it in a myriad of different explosive devices."
"So why is it being kept around here?" the silver-haired heir pushed out a rather good question.
"The Earl seems ta be all the more 'appy ta show it off like it's-a kinda trophy," Calvin threw in, kindling Raphael's question. "If I was 'im, I'd git rid-a dat thing 'n a 'artbeat."
Telvern then twisted his gaze towards the barrel of wine, repeating the same action as Calvin in the past. He cupped his hands together, submerging it in the captured red ocean. Rescuing his hands from the deep, he launched the wine straight at the statue like a rock thrown by a catapult. The wine smashed into the statue, hitting higher than Calvin's shot.
The liquid painted her forehead, creating that familiar sound of something eroding. It then began rolling down her cheeks as tears of blood, leaving behind a burning, hissing path like a trail of fire. His eyes gazed intently upon the falling droplets, finding himself trapped within the walls of his own mind once more.
""Waste not a droplet of wine before her, lest the Lady's wrath befalls thee,"" he quietly repeated those words to himself. "The superstition is a literal hint at this finding, specifically mentioning wine. It is a typical find among the nobility, a near necessity to them. Wine has a high acidic content, and it seems almost corrosive to the bizarre coating encasing the statue..."
"Ooo, egghead's on the case!" exclaimed the social assassin Calvin, excited to watch Telvern attempt to discover the answer to this mystery.
"It's clear that this coating was intentionally set, presumably to conceal the rubium from anyone's knowledge," Telvern deduced. "This substance which veils the rubium appears a well thought-out cover, even to the point where it almost seems to keep it stabilized. A rather impressive feat, I must confess..."
"Why go through all the trouble of concealing it though?" Daevarro threw in another good question.
"Why indeed?" muttered Telvern, Daevarro's question tossed into the air like feeding a vegetable to a mind starved and hungry for a real, solid, juicy answer. It only made it worse, strengthening the desire for something -- anything -- with substance.
"What's your conclusion?" Raphael quickly questioned Telvern.
"As astonishing as the statue is, I am unable to find an understanding of its purpose," the genius responded. "Irregardless, we're fortunate to have discovered this. This statue is a sleeping giant, and we've the ability to awaken it. Such a force at our disposal should provide a significant boon to our cause."
"You mentioned that humans once used this rubium for destructive purposes, right?" the silver-haired heir pressed out a third question. "How powerful is it exactly?"
"In a quantity like this, the explosion could be immense," Telvern candidly answered, calculating the product born after the events of an explosion of this size. The group began to ponder together, dipping into the same spring. Their minds running helter-skelter, rushing to reach a conclusion. After all, it wasn't exactly like they had all the time in the world.
"All right, so..." spoke Daevarro, the first to utter after a short-lived, but intense thought. "How would we set this off? Wouldn't igniting it cause it to explode?"
"I would imagine it first must burn through the coating," the genius affirmed. "It's certain to expend some time, but upon the moment of its ignition, it becomes an inevitability."
"Where are we to set it off?" asked the dark-robed young man.
Exiting the confides of his own brain, Raphael returned to reality. His stoic purple eyes laid down upon Telvern, not allowing his own personal indignation against the genius influence his thinking. "What if it were to explode down here?" asked Raphael, helping the group onward to the verge of a horizon. "What would happen above ground?"
"The castle's structural integrity would no doubt be severely compromised," the genius swiftly determined. "The foundation would be torn asunder, and much like a tower of brinks, the sudden, erratic loss of the foundation would ultimately result in..."
"...The collapse of the castle," Daevarro then gradually realized, concluding Telvern's sentence.
"Exactly," the man himself confirmed. "Being in this crude, treacherous condition that it is, I hold little doubt in this assessment. The castle will falter unto itself, burying those within in what could be fairly considered one massive coffin."
"Dat's 'orrible...!" exclaimed Calvin, somewhat sickened by the thought. "I know this ain't time fer morals, but..."
Telvern's brown gaze turned to the rather distraught assassin, giving him an intimidating look. ""It matters not how it is done, only that it is,"" Telvern responded, quoting a line Libitina spoke just moments ago. "You previously conceded to this statement, found agreement in it even. Are they but empty words to you now that they're no longer convenient to concur with?"
"Damn, egghead..." painfully named the social assassin, grumbling and faltering with unrest like a volcano. "Yer cruel..."
""Cruel" is the reality that we live in," the genius asserted. "Perhaps it would be wise to awaken and join us."
"Enough," demanded Raphael with not a change in his tone. "We've wasted too much time, we need to hurry."
Those found in this small group could agree with Raphael's command, particularly Libitina. She truly felt as though something gnawed at her, something kept her... pulled away. Like separating water from a cloud, a part of her deep inside felt so utterly extinguished, but another was painfully extant, a spectre she could not place.
Regardless of such a fissure in her being, she knew that she had to pull herself together. It was the sake the mission, something far more important than herself. She thought to herself as the conversation between the group continued. "All we need's water, yeah?" Calvin checked with Telvern, digging through the pouches attached to his waist.
"The water content in the wine should be sufficient for our purposes," Telvern returned, stopping Calvin's search like a slap on the wrist. "Once the statue is ignited, we'll have little time to dawdle. We'll need to exit the castle and reach a safe distance."
"We should get started then," Daevarro believed, conveying that which all could agree with. Every member of this squad stepped forward, dipping their hands into the cause and taking aim for the ravishing woman before them. A large gathering of corrosion like the sound of a mass of seething bulls, watching the Lady turned a different shade.
Calvin intently scoured his environment, looking for something that would assist in their showering of wine upon the woman. He found a large wooden bucket upon the floor beside a tall drawer, bringing it over to take full advantage of its capacity. He knelt down beside the barrel, finding the hole that felt its role neglected and without the spotlight.
He put the bucket up to it, popping open the hole and observing as the liquid very eagerly escaped its timber prison. But Calvin's keen nose took notice of a rather powerful odor rushed upstairs into his skull, quickly shaking it off. "Woah!" strongly rejected the assassin, finding the very hairs in his nostrils succumbing to the smell of a basement moldy after a flood, burning them to but small stubs. "No wonder why they 'ad dis stuff 'n the far back, it's flippin' spoiled!"
His words without reply, but he could tell as they were consumed quietly. His crude bucket filled to its brim, plugging and sealing the hole once more. He sped off to the front of the statue, drenching the Lady in this rotten, vinegary concoction. The wine rained down upon her, crashing onto her like a smelly new coat of paint.
The large deposit of wine thrown by Calvin was like knocking on the door into a world of trouble, the acid-like hissing transformed into a faint fizzing. The Lady's ruby red flesh melting off of her bones drip-by-drip, revealing this shallow perception of perfection was but a mere façade.
This fizzle evolved, steadily growing in strength. The group stared on, frozen in place, breath held in their lungs. The fizz of the statue grew exponentially, becoming far more intense than what it was before. The group had even began to see a very faint smoke pluming, bestowing a large concern. "Uh... egghead?" muttered Calvin in bewilderment, speaking from a distracted mind. "Ain't this our cue ta..."
"...make haste?" Telvern returned, finishing the reluctant assassin. "Yes, I should think that advisable."
With that final word, the group did as suggested. As swiftly as possible did their legs vault before them, feeling a timer counting down. The image of a devilish hourglass ensnared in their minds, each grain weighing them down further and further. It urged them to press forward, to stop for nothing.
But regardless, they still must exercise extreme caution. After all, no soul must become aware of that shadow of death that stepped through this place. Being the first to reach the thick wooden door, Libitina quickly but quietly pushed it open. Her red eyes peering out of the smelly domain, darkness the king which she wished to escape from.
The pathway free to her, bringing her legs rushing up the ramp. She found herself freed from the shadow, baptized in a fiery glint once more. The light of the eternal sunflies bathing her, her face but a shadow save the menacing light beaming from her eyes. She felt it her duty to protect her allies, making certain that the path onward was void of any threat.
The coast was clear, inviting the others to join her. Away from that humid, musty prison, the group returned to that pentagon-esque shaped room. A place surrounded by faces of old, haunting ghosts of the past who no longer find breath in this world. Spending no more time unnecessarily, the group hastened to the door.
They stepped toward the eastern side of the room, finding a fanciful, delightfully decorated mahogany double door. They swiftly unlocked it, pushing it open the moment they did. The silver-soaked night still upon them, but the horizon had begun to rise in rebellion against the tyrant. The path revealed a rather eerie sight: an armoured soldier lying there, dying.
It seemed her steel armour had been punched through, finding the shaft of an arrow or two sticking out from her chest. The soldier laid there, looking up at the night sky. She reminisced upon her memories, seeking comfort and respite in a moment of absolute agony and grief. Blood flowing out of her mouth, her trembling breath a sibling to her shaking hands.
From above, Shinon, Shakir, and his fellow Lamians took notice of the group's safe return. Seeing as they've returned, the rope which they scaled down the wall with was thrown back their way, allowing them passage to the top. But the red-headed archer couldn't help but to notice a strange quickness in their step, not at all concerned about taking their time.
Once close enough to the eastern wall, the stolid assassin's body then shot upwards like a cannonball. Her body soared up through the air, zooming to the top of the castle walls. Her clothes flapping as it was smacked by the air rushing past her, finding solid ground under her feet once more.
She had landed perfectly upon her feet, turning her eye to Shakir and Shinon. "My queen, you've returned!" Shakir acknowledged Libitina's return, bowing his head humbly and with utmost respect.
"That went a lot quicker than I expected," mentioned Shinon, finding it a tad strange. "What, were they too drunk to notice you're an enemy and just let you stroll in?"
More would found their way to their hideout among the stars, the furtive genius Telvern and the social assassin Calvin settling foot down upon the white stone. A moment's passing would see yet another to come find the sky, and his name was Raphael. His feet firmly planting into the new ground, his eyes finding the other who had awaited their arrival. "We have to get away from this castle now, it's going to collapse soon." the leader calmly stated, not a rush at all in his voice.
"...Collapse?" the angry Lamian repeated, requiring clarity.
"We ignited the statue in the basement," Raphael explained briefly. "It's going to explode and bring the entire castle down with it."
Eyelids were forced apart by the sheer force of Raphael's statement, jaws stood agape and sharp breaths were gasped. "It's going to what?!" Shakir uttered in disbelief, speaking for the others who were rather shocked by this reply.
"Woah..." said Shinon, more pleasantly surprised than stunned or paralyzed. "What the heck did you guys do?"
"There's no time to explain," Raphael answered, shaking his head. "Right now we need to focus on getting to a safe distance."
"Suuure, no problem," dismissively returned the red-headed archer, unconcerned with the exact details. The dark-robed youth Daevarro was the final one coming up the rope, clinching tightly upon its rough skin. He began to pull himself up, but his lack of muscle would play the role of Achilles' heel, his ascent slow and lackluster.
Yet gradually did the length of his climb shorten, his rise to grace. But alike life itself, the closer he was to it, the harder it was to reach. His face grit and grimaced, feeling an intense pain sting his arms like a swarm of angry bees. The battle of the young man was one quiet, but still quite noticeable.
